


The Price of Oblivion

by orphan_account



Category: Jack Kerouac - Fandom, Ke$ha (Musician)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-23
Updated: 2012-10-23
Packaged: 2017-11-16 21:14:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ke$ha's Tik Tok, rewritten vaguely in the style of Jack Kerouac. You may begin vomiting in disgust at this blatant literary necrophilia at the sound of the ringing bell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Price of Oblivion

Early morning.

Inch by aching inch, I pull myself forth from the gaping abyss of slumber. In spite of the manner in which it has ravaged my every nerve, I still hear the alcohol whispering its sweet nothings to me, sliding gently and seductively into my frontal lobe, telling me that my battered body holds a great power, standing astride the globe like a colossus and as great an exemplar of strength and success as Sean Combs himself.

My hand fumbles and scrapes at my bedside table, sending my glasses clattering to the floor. I scrabble at the floorboards, eventually managing to grasp at what I seek. Going slowly and meticulously as a surgeon, I manoeuvre my eye-wear to their perch within my bedraggled hair. Lethargically I drag myself towards the door, pausing only to grope at a bottle of Jack Daniels, sending a tidal wave of whiskey washing past my teeth and down through my gullet to obliterate the sense of place and responsibility that keeps me anchored here. With this task achieved, I begin my journey out into the thronging metropolis, neither knowing nor caring when I will return.

As I stumble into the glaring light of the hallway of my apartment building, I glance at the floor in an attempt to pause and gain a proper bearing. Bad move. The harshness of the lighting is only intensified when it reflects off of my pedicure, making me briefly stagger. Luckily enough, the clothes I've been wearing for god knows how many hours now. Just as I'm beginning to regain some sense of focus, the atmosphere of tranquillity is severed by the hue and cry emanating from my cellphone. Clumsily flipping it open, I am greeted with the news that not one, not two, but apparently five men are eager for my company (and by this, dear reader, I mean they wish to use me as means to an end, specifically their own gratification). Sighing as I peruse them, I make my way downstairs and along another hallway to where I _think_ my car is parked. 

Success! After briefly struggling with the door, I clamber into the driver's seat, sweeping several abandoned CD cases out of my way. As the car starts, I manage to cast my mind back to an invitation I had received earlier today to a 'social gathering' taking place this evening at a nearby park. In spite of the fact that I already know that things will end up heading in a direction that is less that, I've already made up my mind to head there. I know I drank far too much yesterday, and every day before that for the last week. And I know I'm going to do so again tonight. And I no longer care.

When I arrive, the bass emanating forth from the speakers comes within an inch of deafening me. Rather then showing some sense and turning back, I allow the deluge of sound to carry me through the crowd. From this point onwards, I know I'll be spending the rest of the night trapped in a delirium.

Every second carries me closer to the end that I both yearn for and cannot bear.

Tick.

Tock.


End file.
